The Sword of Kuromori

‘That thing told you?’ Kenny said, struggling to keep up.

‘Mm-hm,’ Kiyomi nodded, tickling Poyo under his chin.

‘The message, if you please,’ her father insisted.

‘I don’t have it,’ Kenny shot back. ‘That Sato bloke took it from me. He’s still got it.’

‘Did you make a copy?’ Harashima said quietly. ‘If I know your grandfather, he would have allowed for this.’

‘A copy? No, with wha–?’ Kenny’s voice trailed away. ‘Wait. Yes. I do have a copy. It’s on here.’ He held out his phone. ‘I took a picture.’

‘Kiyomi-chan,’ Harashima said.

Kiyomi nodded and took the phone from Kenny, her fingertips brushing his. She clicked open a panel on the wall, pulled out a USB lead and plugged in the phone.

‘Poyo,’ she said. The animal waddled over to a shelf, picked up a remote control and tapped the buttons. This may have been the freakiest thing yet, but Kenny said nothing as the wall panel slid aside again and the enlarged snapshot of his grandfather’s letter appeared, spread out over numerous TV screens. Both Kiyomi and her father scanned it quickly.

‘Hm,’ Harashima said. ‘Hardly worth the effort of writing, do you not think, Kuromori-san ?’

Kenny hesitated. ‘I did think it was a bit strange . . .’

‘Didn’t you see the hidden message?’ Kiyomi said.

Kenny blushed again. Not only was the girl very beautiful, but she was also making him feel very stupid.

‘What hidden message?’ he asked.

‘Take another look,’ she said. Her spoken English was flawless, with a slight American accent. ‘Your grandfather typed this up in a cute font and it’s all nicely done, right?’

Kenny stared at the letter, grateful for something else to focus on. He nodded. ‘Yeah . . .’

‘Bzzt ! Sorry, wrong answer. Thank you for playing.’

‘Huh?’

‘Look, Ken-chan. Look harder.’

Kenny looked again, as carefully as he could, searching for hidden shapes and patterns. ‘I don’t see anything.’

Kiyomi walked up to the screens and pointed. ‘Didn’t you notice the wonky letters? Some of them are in italic. Look. Here, the “p” in “place” leans to the right. Two lines down, the “h” in “that” and then the “l” in “feelings” are irregular. Do you see it now?’

Kenny stared again. ‘Oh, wow,’ he said, as the pattern became clear, like a 3D Magic Eye picture coming into focus. ‘You’re right. I never saw any of that before.’

‘That’s because your brain irons out the wrinkles,’ Kiyomi said. ‘Here, let me underline the italics.’

‘It’s an old trick from World War Two,’ Harashima said. ‘Prisoners would send hidden messages this way in their letters home.’

‘So,’ Kiyomi said, arms folded in a teacher-like pose, ‘what does it say?’

To my dearest grandson, Kenneth,

Yes, I know you hate being called ‘Kenneth’ but it could have been worse – your grandmother wanted to name you ‘Aloysius’.

If all is well, you will be reading this upon an aero plane high above the Pacific Ocean, making your final approach to Japan, where I have arranged for you to spend the summer with your father.

I remember what it was like for me, travelling alone to a strange and unfamiliar place, but, once I adjusted to the local customs, I found it a place of magical wonder. I suspect that you too may be embarking on a similar journey of self-discovery.

If I have any advice for you, it is this: believe in yourself; trust your feelings; do what is right, especially when it is most difficult; and always carry a cucumber near fresh water.

With all my love,

Your grandfather, Lawrence

Kenny read down quickly. ‘It says . . . open . . . the . . . enve . . . lope. Open the envelope. Open the – Hey, I already opened it, otherwise how would I have got the letter out? This is stupid. It makes no sense.’

‘Do you have the envelope?’ Harashima asked.

Kenny patted down his pockets, heard the paper rustle and took it out. ‘Yes, here it is. They took the letter, but left this.’

‘May I?’ Harashima drew closer and held out his hand to take the paper. It was then that Kenny noticed that the last joint was missing from the man’s little finger. He stared for a moment, trying to remember what that signified. Harashima gave no indication that he had noticed.

‘Kuromori-san, your grandfather went to a lot of trouble to tell you to do something you have already done. Is that not so?’

Kenny nodded. He was feeling stupider and stupider, and getting weary of everything being phrased as a question.

‘Except you have not done as he instructed.’ Harashima carefully ran his fingertip under the sealed edges of the envelope, gently lifting as he went, and flattened it into one large sheet of paper. ‘Now it is opened,’ he said, sniffing at the paper and holding it up to the light.

He took a silver cigarette lighter from his jacket and struck the flint. He ran the flame beneath the envelope, scorching it in spots, trying to avoid burning his fingers. ‘Lemon juice makes a good invisible ink,’ he said. ‘So do onion and vinegar, but the smell gives them away.’

When he had finished, he snapped the lighter shut and handed the paper to Kenny. There, clearly written in brown lines, were the symbols:

N/Ca Al:Fm

Harashima smiled. ‘Your grandfather has done well to narrow it down. It is as we thought.’

Kenny stood up again. ‘OK, obviously, whatever’s going on here, you don’t need me. I’m way too dumb for any of this fun and games, so I’m just going to get my backpack and go, all right? I need to find my dad.’

Harashima adjusted a cufflink. ‘Kuromori-san, you are wanted by certain authorities who, no doubt, have you listed on their records as a threat to national security. You have no money, no friends, no contacts; you cannot speak, read or write Japanese. As of now, the only people who have helped you are us.’

‘I can call my dad, just as soon as I get a signal.’

‘Your father was arrested this afternoon, just before your plane landed. If you call him, it will lead Sato straight to you.’

Kenny’s hands closed into fists and he felt a scream starting low down in his stomach.

‘I know how difficult this is for you,’ Kiyomi said, ‘and believe me, I’d love to tell you more, but you’re going to have to trust us. You’re safe here. I saved your life once already. Why would I do that if I meant you harm?’

‘Look, I get it, OK? Something crazy is going on. I can see . . . weird creatures. My stupid grandad is somehow mixed up in this. You think I can help you, but you’re wrong. That’s not me. I don’t belong here and I don’t want to be involved in any of this, whatever it is.’

‘Kenny, you’re already involved,’ Kiyomi said. ‘As am I. We were involved in this before we were even born. Choices were made for us years ago, and now we have to decide whether to accept those choices or not.’

‘You’re kidding me, right?’ Kenny took a deep breath, placed his fists on the table and rested his weight on the knuckles. ‘OK, one question before I go: what does it mean? N, Ca, Al, Fm?’

‘Chemical names,’ Harashima said. ‘Nitrogen, Calcium, Aluminium and Fermium. They’re not important. What is important is their position in the periodic table. Nitrogen is 7, calcium is 20, aluminium is 13 and fermium is 100.’

Kiyomi looked expectantly at Kenny.

‘What? I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘I’m stupid, remember?’

‘Seven, twenty, thirteen, one hundred,’ she said. ‘It’s a date and time: July the twentieth, thirteen hundred hours.’

‘What’s the big deal about that?’

‘Ken-chan, that’s nine days from now. Unless you help us to stop it, that’s when fifty million people on the West Coast of America are going to die.’

Kenny’s legs buckled and he sat down hard.

‘Say that again,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I – I couldn’t have heard that right.’

Kiyomi sat down across from him and leaned closer. ‘Kenny, there is a plan to kill millions of people in America in nine days’ time to avenge something that happened many years ago.’

‘In nine days?’

Kiyomi nodded and leaned back.

‘How?’

‘We are not exactly sure, although I have a good idea,’ Harashima said.

‘And are you going to tell me?’

‘Not yet, Kuromori-san. You have not yet chosen sides, therefore it would be dangerous to tell you more.’

‘Sides?’

‘Ken-chan, there is a war still being fought,’ Kiyomi added. ‘There are some who would gladly turn back the clock and return Japan to its pre-industrial state.’

Her father turned off the television screens. ‘You are tired. Sleep will help.’

Kenny’s stomach growled and he put a hand over his middle to muffle it.

‘You’re still hungry?’ Kiyomi said. ‘Oyama said you ate everything. And I mean everything.’

Kenny cast a wry look in the direction of the furry animal. ‘Not me,’ he said. ‘It was him.’

‘Poyo!’ Kiyomi said. ‘But you had dinner already. No wonder you’re so fat. That was naughty.’ The creature lowered its head in shame.

‘Um, what is that thing anyway?’ Kenny asked.

‘Poyo? He’s tanuki. Japanese raccoon dog.’

‘Do you know why he was on my plane?’

Kiyomi paused. ‘I sent him. He’s been watching over you.’

Poyo nodded vigorously.

‘What do you mean, “watching over me”?’ A gnawing suspicion was growing in Kenny’s mind.

‘We sent him to America a few months ago, when we . . . We thought you might be in danger.’

Kenny rounded on the tanuki. ‘So you’re the one who’s been raiding my fridge at school? I thought I was going mad and kept blaming my room-mate. I got into a huge fight over that.’

Poyo’s ears drooped and he slunk away to hide under the table.

Kiyomi nodded. ‘I know. Poyo told me.’

‘What else did he tell you?’ Kenny’s ears were heating up.

Kiyomi exchanged a glance with her father. ‘Oh, nothing much. Just that you’re, er, very independent. He likes you, by the way. Says you’re much cleverer than you look.’

Kenny’s stomach rumbled again and he stood up, eyeing the door.

‘So why did I need this?’ he asked, holding up the bamboo whistle. ‘If Fatso’s been spying on me the whole time?’

‘Because here you’re going to need all the help you can get. In America, you were pretty safe,’ Kiyomi explained.

‘You just said I was in danger.’

‘It was your grandfather’s idea,’ Harashima said. ‘And it worked. We protected you and brought you here.’

‘And that makes it all right, does it? You know what? I’ve had enough of being here, wherever here is. I’m off. See ya.’

Kenny went to the door, slid it open and stopped. His path was blocked by the huge servant he had encountered earlier. The man was holding Kenny’s backpack.

‘No one is going to prevent you leaving,’ Harashima said, ‘but know that you do not choose your path; the path chooses you.’

Kenny rolled his eyes. ‘Isn’t that what Yoda said to Luke?’

Kiyomi took the backpack and held it out to Kenny.

‘Tell you what,’ she said, ‘let’s go get some air. I’ll buy you a burger, so at least you’re fed, and then I’ll drop you off wherever you want to go.’

Kenny’s eyes darted between the people in the room. ‘No strings?’ he asked.

‘No strings.’ Kiyomi held up three fingers, palm outwards with thumb and little finger touching. ‘Scout’s honour,’ she said.

Kenny allowed himself a smile. ‘I’ll bet you were never a Scout, or even a Girl Guide.’

Kiyomi handed Kenny his backpack. ‘See? Poyo was right: you are smarter than you look.’ She returned the smile.

‘Kiyomi-chan,’ her father said in a low voice, ‘be careful. They know he’s here.’

‘So,’ Kiyomi said, leading the way past the huge servant, ‘do they have McDonald’s where you’re from?’

The cool night air ruffled Kenny’s hair as he clung to the motorcycle. They rode down a long thoroughfare which seemed like a canyon made of light. Glass-fronted buildings towered on either side, brightly lit from within. On the outside they were decked with huge illuminated signs advertising cosmetics, electronic goods, soft drinks, cars and countless other products.

Pedestrians milled around everywhere, patiently waiting for the traffic lights to change; when they did, the crowds would break and spill across the roads in great waves.

Kiyomi passed a small temple, the reflected lights of skyscrapers glinting in the koi pond in front. She pulled into the car park of a McDonald’s restaurant and glided to a stop. Kenny dismounted and crouched to take a closer look at the motorcycle.

‘This bike,’ he said, ‘has no exhaust pipes.’

Kiyomi stood with her arms folded and watched, a smile playing on her lips. Poyo plopped to the ground and sprawled beside Kenny.

‘It’s also completely silent,’ Kenny said, finally working out what it was that had been bugging him ever since he had first set eyes on the bike and its mysterious rider. ‘What? How –?’

‘Ken-chan, I’d love to tell you, but I can’t since you’ll be leaving soon. Poyo, you stay here. And no going through the trash cans.’

Kiyomi pushed open the glass doors and went to the counter to order. Kenny caught up with her in the queue. ‘You know, you’re not fooling me with this whole I-don’t-need-anyone lone-wolf routine,’ she said. ‘You should trust us to help you.’

‘I can handle myself,’ Kenny said.

‘Really? So, Mr Independent, why don’t you order for us?’

‘Irrashaimase!’ said the girl behind the counter, looking expectantly at Kenny.

He stared at the illuminated photos of hamburgers above the counter with Japanese writing underneath, before flashing Kiyomi an embarrassed grin. ‘Um . . . could you do it, please?’

Kenny found a table by the window and watched his fellow diners. There were office workers on the way home, school pupils still in uniform, a couple of punk rockers, an old lady wrapped in a long raincoat. The place was much brighter and cleaner than fast-food restaurants at home.

‘Did you want a shake?’ Kiyomi asked, placing a tray on the table.

‘Sounds good,’ Kenny said, reaching for a fry. ‘Chocolate for me.’

‘Well, now it’s summer, so you can have melon, peach, banana or green tea.’

‘Oh . . . maybe later then.’

Kenny bit into his burger, savouring the taste. ‘I haven’t had one of these in years,’ he said, wiping a dribble of ketchup from his chin.

‘How come?’ Kiyomi dipped a fry into her peach shake.

‘It’s something . . . My mum would treat me, but . . . I stopped.’ Kenny put the burger down, blinking several times.

Kiyomi put her hand on Kenny’s. ‘It’s OK. I know about your mother.’

Kenny pulled his hand back and wiped a knuckle over his blurring eyes. ‘I don’t think about her much any more.’ He sniffed.

‘I lost my mother too,’ Kiyomi said, gazing into space. ‘But I was too little to remember her.’

‘I was six,’ Kenny said. ‘You?’

‘I was two.’

They ate the next few bites in silence.

‘Thank you,’ Kenny said.

‘Huh? For what?’

‘For not giving me the usual “I’m sorry” routine.’

Kiyomi laughed. ‘Oh God, I hate that. Everyone says it and I just want to say, “Don’t be sorry, it’s not like you’re responsible.”’

‘Exactly. I was so sick of all the pats on the head, people telling me how brave I was, saying she’s in a better place – like they know anything.’

Kiyomi shrugged. ‘They mean well. They just don’t know what else to say.’ She took a slurp of peach shake. ‘They can’t imagine what it’s like to grow up without a mum.’

‘You know what the worst thing was for me?’ Kenny looked away, his cheeks pink. ‘It’s kind of silly . . .’

‘Come on,’ Kiyomi said. ‘Who am I going to tell?’

Kenny stared down at his meal. ‘I miss the cuddles and the hugs. You know, with my mum, it didn’t really matter what I did. If I was upset, she would just give me a hug and it was all better. With my dad . . . let’s just say it’s different.’ He popped the last of his burger into his mouth and licked his fingers. ‘How about you? What was the hardest thing . . . growing up?’

Kiyomi’s smile vanished. ‘It would have been nice to get tips on what to wear and make-up. Stuff like that. My dad isn’t –’

‘Hey, at least your dad is there for you, every day. He didn’t dump you like a bag of dog poo first chance he got.’

Kiyomi reached for Kenny’s hand again. ‘Your father fell apart afterwards. Papa told me. He couldn’t cope. You know that. I think seeing you was too painful for him, reminded him too much of your mum.’

‘And that’s an excuse to shut me out, is it?’ Kenny drew his hand back. ‘Anyway, you seem to know a lot about me. How come?’

Kiyomi dunked her last chicken nugget into a small pot of sour-plum sauce. ‘Our families go way back,’ she said. ‘You didn’t know that, did you? My grandfather and yours were friends. They worked together after the war.’

‘They did? Doing what?’

‘Sorry, can’t tell you that. You’re leaving, remember?’ Kiyomi wiped her fingers on a paper napkin. ‘We should go.’

‘Allow me,’ Kenny said, gathering the empty containers. He wrestled the rubbish into an overflowing bin and stowed the tray. He wasn’t ready to leave just yet. For one thing, he had nowhere to go; Kiyomi’s father was right about that. And he had so many questions. How could his grandfather have kept all this from him? He straightened up, as if adjusting the weight of a burden, and caught Kiyomi staring at him.

‘Neodymium alloy magnets,’ Kiyomi said, when he returned to the table.

‘Huh?’

‘My bike. It’s a prototype. Lithium-ion batteries and super-magnets drive the motor. That’s why it makes no sound. It’s electric. My father borrowed it.’

‘Stole it you mean?’ Kenny regretted the words as soon as they left his lips.

‘No. Borrowed it. From a business associate.’ Kiyomi stressed each word. ‘Do you really think I’d be riding around on a stolen bike?’

‘Well, your dad is, um, a gangster . . .’ The accusation was out of Kenny’s mouth before he could stop himself.

‘What?’

‘He’s a yakuza, right? Japanese mafia. I saw his missing little finger.’ Inside Kenny’s head, a small voice was screaming at him for messing up what was almost a pleasant meal.

Kiyomi grabbed her handbag and stood up. ‘Maybe it’s better you’re leaving us, Kuromori. I mean, you obviously know everything already. You don’t need us and we certainly don’t need you.’ She strode towards the door, watched by the old woman in the raincoat.

Kenny stood up. ‘No. I’m sorry. Look, that’s not what I meant. I, er . . .’

‘Get lost!’

Kenny watched numbly through the window as Kiyomi marched to her bike and swung a leather-clad leg over the seat. As she leaned forward to pull on her helmet, four dark shadows emerged from the gloom of the car park and swarmed at her. One of them swung something at Kiyomi, catching her around the head, and she fell from the bike, her helmet bouncing away over the tarmac.

Kenny was on his feet before he realised what he was doing.

By the time he was out of the glass doors, his mind had finished arguing with itself. One side was saying to keep out of it, that this was nothing to do with him, that it was dangerous and that he was leaving anyway; the other side said simply that someone was in trouble and he had to do something.

‘Hey! What are you doing?’ Kenny shouted. ‘Leave her alone!’ He made his voice as loud and as deep as he could while he fumbled for the whistle.

‘Hnh? Nandayo ?’ The four shapes moved back from the fallen girl and Kenny saw a jumble of black jumpsuits and leather jackets with Chinese writing on them, biker boots, long red sashes tied in an X-shape across the chest, headbands – and a baseball bat, a wooden sword, a metal pipe and a length of chain.

‘Uh-oh’ Kenny muttered, looking around for anything he could use in defence. Suddenly, this wasn’t such a great idea.

Two of the bikers moved behind him, cutting off his escape. He glanced into the restaurant, but the diners were oblivious. The lead biker slapped the metal pipe against his open palm and sized up the teenage boy standing before him.

‘Ki demo kurutta ka?’ he said, dragging the last word out into a sneer.

Kenny fought the urge to run. Instead, he pointed at the pipe and broke into maniacal laughter, quick and high-pitched, like a hyena. The biker blinked and took a step back from this foreign lunatic. In that moment, Kenny moved. He threw the whistle hard, aiming at the man’s face, and closed in, grabbing for the pipe before he could swing it.

‘Aiee!’ the man shrieked as the whistle hit his eye. His grip loosened and Kenny wrenched the pipe free.

‘Duck!’ Kiyomi screamed and Kenny dropped, feeling the rush of air as the baseball bat swept over his head. It smacked into the man who was clutching at his eye and knocked him to the ground. Still crouched, Kenny swung the pipe hard to his left. There was a sharp crack as it connected with a kneecap, another scream, and the biker holding the bat crumpled to the floor. Kenny sprang up and saw the remaining two, one with the chain and the other with the kendo sword, rushing him. Kiyomi dragged herself across the ground towards her bike.

Kenny twirled the pipe – like a baton – and edged away from the biker with the chain. Thinking quickly, he lowered the weapon, offering his opponent an opening. The man took it and swung the chain. Kenny brought the steel tube up to meet the flail. With a rattling clang, the chain wrapped itself round the pipe and Kenny pulled back sharply with all his strength. Caught off balance, the man stumbled and fell, releasing his grip on the metal links.

Three down, one to go, Kenny thought, but he was too late. The man with the sword bore down on him, raising both arms high above his head and then bringing them down. Kenny raised an arm to protect himself. There was a snarl, a flash of fur and then more shrieking. The man fell backwards, his hands clawing to fend off Poyo whose sharp little teeth were clamped to his crotch.

The last biker standing, the one who had been wielding the chain, looked at his companions – one on the ground with cracked ribs, one writhing with a broken kneecap and one with an angry tanuki attached to his privates – and decided it was time to go. He turned on his heel. And stopped.

The old lady in the raincoat had emerged from McDonald’s and was directly in front of him. She swayed gently and stared at him hungrily. Her eyes were small and beady, glinting red in the street lights, and her long grey hair was waving even though there was little breeze.

The biker looked from Kenny to the old woman and back. He shrugged and continued marching towards her, an arm raised to shove her aside.

That was when Kenny’s stomach lurched as he caught sight of a forked tongue flickering over the old lady’s lips. Something was horribly wrong here. ‘Wait!’ he shouted at the biker, raising a hand in warning. ‘Stop!’

The biker hesitated and the thing in the raincoat pounced. He was flung to the ground, spread-eagled, with the creature on top of him, its mouth clamped to his.

‘Ew, gross!’ Kenny said, backing away.

Kiyomi shook her pounding head to clear it and hauled her bike into an upright position. She heard Kenny’s warning shout, looked up, and her blood chilled. ‘Kenny . . . ’ Kiyomi said, her voice low but in a tone not to be argued with. ‘Get back here, now . . . We can still get away. Poyo, jubun da.’